


The ties of a Puppet.

by Bluentis



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Depressed TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Dissociation, Drowning, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Grief/Mourning, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Esteem Issues, Sickfic, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Suicidal Thoughts, TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Touch-Starved, Traumatized Tommyinnit (Video Blogging RPF), Victim Blaming, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29652471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluentis/pseuds/Bluentis
Summary: Tommy hates how his mind feels trapped at that moment with Tubbo. The look in his eyes one Tommy had been forced to see far too many times. Wilbur’s eyes.It makes Tommy feel sick.It makes Tommy feel Weak.orTommy struggles with the trauma of his life and unhealthy relationships, Wilbur tries his hand at redemption, Phil and Techno learn to heal what's been lost.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 30
Kudos: 305





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HEY! An important note for this fic is that I will be updating tags as chapters come out, so character tags or more importantly trigger warning tags will be added later into the fic, keep on the lookout and stay safe.
> 
> The teen and up rating is obviously for violence and the heavy topic of manipulation and abuse, this fic will have a happy ending, there is absolutely NO shipping or NSFW in this fic.
> 
> Expect canon typical mental health issues, alongside canon typical violence, I may go more into detail but there's your warning!
> 
> (Wilbur's death IS mentioned, but I don't consider it a major character death due to Ghostbur being alive.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to check tags and buckle in. For the Ghostbur fans, don't worry, we'll see him soon. It's just important to focus on the isolation of exile first!

Tommy  _ didn’t  _ cry. 

He was a big man, a strong fellow if you will, and he most certainly wasn’t staring at the stars biting back tears as he lay in… Well, it certainly isn’t  _ his  _ bed, just like this  _ place _ isn’t his home. 

No matter how strongly Dream feels differently.

No matter how strongly Tubbo-

_ Well, that didn’t take very long, he thought, a trace of bitterness in his breath as a few tears slipped out. _

_ Wilbur _ , as elegant as ever, pops his head through the dirt wall over Tommy.

Big men  _ definitely _ don’t scream like that, he thought bitterly. Though, seeing your brother's ghost shoot his way through solid mud like its air is a bit jarring. 

“Tommy, are you okay? Would you like some Blue!” He piped with a smile.

“Ugh, no.” Tommy scrambles up. He rushes to wipe a few tears with his sleeve so he can look at  _ Wilbur _ at eye level, and hey, if he bunches the blankets in his fists to suppress any more tears, that is  _ his _ business. 

“What do you want, Ghostbur?” He rolls his eyes a bit, too tired and bitter to be pleasant anymore. He’s not sure if he ever was; _Tubbo_ _ surely didn’t seem to think he was- _

“Well, you looked down! I thought maybe you could use a good old distraction!  _ I like those! _ ” Wilbur whispers the last part playfully, and it reminds Tommy of when they were just kids.

“Can I- um.” He clears his throat, voice sounding far too weak to start a conversation with a weight like this.

“Why did you make _Tubbo_ _The President?_ ”

He ignores his failed attempt at a stable voice, it’s not shaky, but the graveled and hushed tone just reeks of...whatever he’s feeling. It all just feels like a scrambled essay, words he can’t read and sentences that just repeat until he learns to expect them.

“ _ You’ve messed this up for none but  _ **_yourself-_ ** _ “ _

_ “You’re  _ **_selfish._ ** _ ” _

He hates the way he can hear it ring through his ears as he snaps back into his sense of reality. 

“ _ I _ didn’t; that was **_Wilbur._ ** ” His tone is hushed,  _ understanding _ . It makes Tommy’s bitterness build in his throat. Makes him far more conscious of the tears he bites back.

“Think!  _ Think man!  _ Wh-Why did you make-  _ Why!” _

He doesn’t care about the tears anymore, his voice feels raw, and his shoulders shake, but at least he can hold back the worst of it if just a  _ few _ slips beyond his reach.

" _ I didn't; that _ was  _ Wilbur _ that was  _ Alivebur- Did you want me to pretend to be Alivebur...? _ "

Ghostbur has his head cocked to the side like some sort of dog, but his expression reminds Tommy so, _so_ _much of Wilbur._ It burns, his body feeling like a scorched earth, as if he were charred grass that will never grow, no matter how much sun and water you provide. He doesn’t want to think about this. Not now.

_ Tommy _ can’t hold himself back anymore as a laugh barks out of his throat, forcing his sobs to follow.

There he goes again, the harsh whiplash of reality, the feeling of water dripping in increasing pace onto his head only just now making him realize he never finished his bloody roof. 

The rain crawls down his face, dampening his hair until it’s soaked to his forehead. It seeps through his clothes, clinging uncomfortably to his tired frame, even after they’d just barely finished drying from the boat ride over.

Tommy hates how his mind feels trapped at that moment with Tubbo. The look in his eyes one Tommy had been forced to see far too many times.  _ Wilbur’s eyes.  _

It makes Tommy feel  _ sick. _

It makes Tommy feel  _ Weak. _

He tries just cracking his eyes open, making eye contact with  _ Wilb- _ … Ghostbur. 

The sight of his pitiful face just makes Tommy want to cry more; the rain phases through his  _ form _ like it’s non-existent, and he looks so lost. 

It doesn’t look like Wilbur, not anymore.

Wilbur never looked lost; he looked  _ found _ at every moment of his life. He exuded confidence, clarity, and compassion, but he wasn’t a bore. Wilbur would laugh, a smug expression on his face cracking jokes as they’d won, and sit quietly with his head in his hands when they’d lost. 

He found L’manberg, found freedom, found friends, and he _ found Tommy. He called him a brother. _ Then he blew up his home.

That one hurt. Tommy knew Wilbur wasn’t stable, he hadn’t been for a while, but as Tommy laid in bed that night, he couldn’t help but wonder why Wilbur was going to make Tommy President just to take it all away from him.

Did Wilbur hate him? Did Tommy deserve it?

Then he got stabbed as Tommy could do nothing but watch the sick, empty smile fade from his lips while Phil sighed and held his lifeless body, still shielding him in his damaged wings. 

_ Cowards.  _ Tommy thought with bite.  _ Both of them, Cowards. _

This  _ shell _ of him knows nothing. Nothing that really  _ matters _ now.

Tommy doesn’t  _ care _ if Wilbur remembers happy times with Eret when they still believed that people were kind. That people were  _ loyal. _ He doesn’t care if he remembers the sun on their skin as Fundy rolled through L’manberg’s newly founded fields, lighting up the world with orange fur and flower crowns. He doesn’t care if Wilbur remembers Phil, or Tommy, or any of it. None of that matters to Tommy anymore, and it’s all gone. Simply a painful memory that he died for nothing. Twice.

He  _ needs _ Wilbur to remember  _ why _ .

Why did Tommy deserve death, why did Tommy deserve war, and sacrifice  _ far too many times?  _ What was it all for? So he could lose his best friend? So he could watch as the life drained from Tubbos eyes in a box too small for his body? The way Wilbur’s eye’s looked so cold in his fiery glare.

Just to see that look again when Tubbo laughed as he exiled him.

Tommy knows that look. He’s seen it so many times before.

The words ring.

“ _ You’ve messed this up for none but  _ **_yourself-_ ** “

“ _ You’re  _ **_selfish_ ** **.** ”

It snaps him harshly back into reality again, and he wishes it didn’t. Everything hurts more like this.

His head feels like it’s filled with cotton, and his hands feel cold.

He tries to collect himself for a moment; maybe he can find a way to save this conversation. Get an actual answer or two out of this. 

“Do you want some blue now?” Ghostbur gently offers, hands pouring azure powder as it shimmers in the night’s stars, his voice laced with concern, with  _ pity _ .

Maybe Tommy deserves a little pity. 

“Sure,  **_Will._ ** ” The words slip before he can process them enough to grab them, try and catch the  _ mistake _ before it escapes his cold lips.

His stomach drops, and the sick, cold, distant feeling rolls over his head again in waves. There goes Tommy's hope for  _ answers _ . For  _ closure _ . He doesn’t think he’d have the strength to choke out the words needed for it, Tommys not sure if he’d even want to know.

It’s hard to see with his hair damp in the onslaught of rain stuck to his forehead, but he forces his eyes to open and judge Ghostbur’s reaction. Tommy doesn’t miss the way Ghostbur's face falls before resigning himself to a small smile.

“It’s okay, Tommy; You _ can call me Wilbur. _ ”

Tommy doesn’t understand why it makes him cry harder, but in a way... _ it feels better.  _

  
Reminiscent of a childhood  _ he was never allowed to have. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 is going to be my longest chapter ever, so prepare for that! Please comment if you can, I love reading them, and it motivates me to write!


	2. Wilbur's L'manberg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy’s eyes snap back open towards his brother.
> 
> He hasn’t stopped smiling, but Wilbur’s eyes shed tears. 
> 
> Why does he look relieved?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to check the tags for updated trigger warnings like always! (For those worrying about Ghostbur, he's coming back soon, but we need a bit of time with Dream and Tommy first. :)

The days seem to flip by after that, and it could’ve been days or weeks; Tommy never had a perfect sense of time and always had someone he could ask. He's not even sure if he  _ cares _ about the  _ time _ anymore. Now he only has Wilbur, and it’s not like he’s known for a perfect memory. 

_ Had  _ Wilbur, Tommy should say. He hadn’t shown up in  _ so _ long, and Dream would tell him all about how Tommy shouldn’t have been surprised by that fact.    
  


It takes Tommy a moment to refocus his attention on Dream, the hooded man's mask not letting Tommy gauge his reaction, forcing him to rely on body language alone. The strained shake of his hands, Dream’s tense shoulders.

  
“Drop your amour in the fucking hole already, Tommy; I’m tired of this conversation.” Dream barks out the order, frustration lacing his voice with a sick familiarity underneath, this was _ simply routine  _ in their  **friendship** .    
  
He tried to resist at first, keep a shred of dignity after all he'd lost, but Dream was far more powerful, and Tommy was too exhausted to care anymore. 

Too fearful to fight back, only resiting with a quick shout or small slap every now and again. The bruises and cuts left sunken in Tommy’s skin weren’t worth the trouble; he quickly learned, with each hit, he could feel his resolve slipping away.  _ Maybe he deserved this? _   
  


  
“I’m just trying to do what’s best for you, Tommy. Why can’t you see that?” Dream cooed, voice far too calm for the situation he puppeteered. Dream was never  _ wrong, _ though,  _ was he? _

Tommy would  _ cry _ out for Wilbur in the night only to be greeted by  _ Dream’s _ mask looming at the entry to his tent, “He’s not coming Tommy, he’s left  _ just like the rest of them _ , but I’m here okay? I’m your real friend.” Dream remarked, not bothering to hide the bite at the end of his sentence, feigning care.   
  
It wasn’t Tommy’s fault that it felt so nice to be _ comforted _ for once, to not have to hide his emotions for the strength of a brother crumbling into insanity or a  _ friend _ with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Tommy knew it must have hurt, but all Tubbo would ever do is  _ smile _ through his pain. If his best friend was willing to do that, Tommy  _ wouldn’t _ be his weak link.

_ Too late for that, _ he guesses.

“Dream, please just let me keep it this once.” Tommy pleaded with fear and uncertainty lacing his tone, and Dream didn’t like pity. It was the one thing he could rely on—the one thing Tommy could  _ trust _ in this hellscape.

“You don’t  _ DESERVE _ to keep these, Tommy! I give you food and take  _ care _ of you, and yet you’re still so  _ selfish _ . Asking for more and begging as if I don’t already provide what you need.” he seethed the words.

So there his items went, down a pit that  _ sparked like L’manberg _ .

A moment of silence passes, and it  _ kills Tommy inside _ , anxiety waving over him, worse with every second that passes quietly. He  _ needs _ to fill the air of pure silence before he  _ screams _ .

“I just wanted to know when he’d be back.” Tommy shuddered.

Dream barked out a laugh laced with condensation and a bitter ring.   
  


“You really think he'd come back for someone as  _ selfish _ as you, Tommy? They left for a reason.  _ They all did _ .”   
  
Tommy waited until Dream had stormed through the portal to release his emotions. Letting the sobs wrack his weak, thin chest until well into the night, crawling into his bed feeling so  _ drained _ and yet  _ far too awake. _

  
  


It’s hard to sleep and even harder to eat. Tommy’s body is so much frailer, and the tent he’s built barely services any form of warmth. He tries not to let himself feel bitter. After all, he deserves this, right? There has to be a reason he suffers, and it can’t all just be for nothing, right?    
  
Tommy just hopes he can sleep without water invading his lungs in the morning. He wouldn’t wish that burning, _ suffocating _ pain on anyone, even  _ Dream _ . If Tommy was honest with himself, he didn't want Dream to get hurt at all. Dream was the only one who stayed, who  _ cared _ .

If he didn't? Tommy could at least feel what it was  _ like _ to be _ loved _ , even if it was all fake. Wilbur never bothered hiding his  _ detestment _ of Tommy in Pogtopia when he needed support and love from his brother the most, so forgive him for enjoying what he has left.

* * *

Tommy feels himself pass out, and when he opens his eyes, Wilbur is standing with him in Pogtopia. Tommy can’t remember what he was thinking about before. All he knows is that Wilbur’s angry.

His shoulders are tense, just slightly taller than Tommy. Even with the lack of a discernable height difference, Tommy still feels as if Wilbur’s angry form towers above him. His normally relaxed yet calculated expression has quickly soured into a scowl that never seems to leave his face.

It doesn’t look right. 

It doesn’t look like his brother anymore.

Tommy feels himself shake a little,  _ another screaming match, he thinks. _

_ Maybe he deserves it. _

The thought makes him feel _ alone _ , in a way that Tommy has never felt before. It makes his chest  _ ache _ .

He closes his eyes and tries to think of a way to prevent this routine. Nothing comes to him. Darkness seems to envelop him, and  _ for a moment, he feels  _ **_free._ **

  
  


Tommy’s head feels lost as his eyes flutter open, feeling his feet rise uneasily above the rubble that scatters the earth surrounding him while looking up just to see the complete and utter devastation of his home, of  _ Wilbur's L’manberg _ .

He turns his glossy eyes to the sound of laughter,  _ his brother’s laughter.  _

Wilbur’s alive at least, Tommy’s  _ pissed _ , his bones  _ ache, _ and he just wants to go  _ home _ and relax, but he’ll accept this. He’d accept anything for Wilbur. He tries hard not to think about how  _ home _ doesn’t  _ exist anymore,  _ and he’s not sure if it ever has. At least it will all be okay with him and his brother, right?

That hope dies in his chest as the two figures seem to scream, anger shaking in the chest of the blonde figure. Tommy can barely hear what they’re saying, his ears still ringing in pain. Something about slaying a dragon? 

Then the sword _slices_ through Wilbur’s stomach. Crimson _pools_ out of the wound with dark enthusiasm, and Tommy can see the way the winged man’s eyes _widen_ in horror. The expression doesn’t last, as he ends up looking _disappointed_ above all else.

Tommy doesn’t hear the scream rip out of his vocal cords, but suddenly he can’t breathe, and his throat  _ aches. _ He can’t see anymore, his eyes are shut tight, and he keeps hoping he’ll wake up, that this is a Dream. It’s hard to wake up when you can hear the screams of the people you care about, narrowly escaping a violent death so vividly, as their bodies burn narrowly avoiding the TNT still sparking with life.   
  
Tommy’s eyes snap back open towards his brother.

He hasn’t stopped smiling, but Wilbur’s eyes shed tears. 

_ Why does he look relieved?  _

* * *

Tommy’s eyes snap open with tears rolling uncontrollably down his face. Another nightmare, the ache of it staying like always. 

Family was too much to ask for, according to Wilbur, because he threw it all away over a  _ presidency _ . Over the idea of a country destined to die anyway, they could’ve been happy without L’manberg.

Wilbur had everyone’s loyalty, everyone’s affections. History would have looked kindly upon Wilbur if he just hadn’t gotten so selfish.

Tommy hates when he thinks like that, it makes him feel like a monster, but he’s tired of the way his anger builds in his chest only to explode into a sense of grief for a man who threw him away.   
  
_ Just like everyone else did, he thinks bitterly. _   
  


He throws the blanket off of him, not wanting to feel the way it  _ suffocates _ him. He always was  _ a bit  _ claustrophobic. Throwing his legs off the bed, he forces himself to move towards the beach. The sound of waves would be calming to him if he didn’t feel like he was _ drowning inside them.  _

  
  


He can’t tell how long his eyes just watched the shore, blankly staring ahead as if the sea would save him. His limbs felt so heavy, and it couldn't hurt to rest his eyes for a bit, right? It’s not like he would actually manage to sleep. He never does these days, not for long. Tommy doesn't realize he's lulled himself asleep until it's too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit dark and the next is even darker, Hope you guys enjoy it :)
> 
> Remember to drink some water, comment if you enjoyed this chapter, and take care!


	3. Only himself to blame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major TWs in this chapter! Be sure to check the tags and stay safe, this one was hard to write but my favorite chapter so far!

His head feels so full, and as his consciousness fades before flashing back in waves, Tommy realizes his lungs feel even worse _;_ however, brimming with the ocean's wrath that scorches his lungs and forces him to choke.  
  
The bubbles burst out of his throat, and he can see a calloused hand in the water outstretched and reaching for him, but he’s just so damn tired, and his eyes flutter shut with exhaustion. Maybe he can sleep just a little longer.  
  
That's the last thought he has before the waves lull him back into the most peaceful slumber he’s had since his exile started. 

He's not conscious enough to feel the strong hand grip his tattered shirt and pull him from the ocean's calm death, dragging him back to a living nightmare as he sleeps.

* * *

Tommy can feel his fading consciousness fall in and out of rhythm with his sleep. In one particular moment, he could feel water burst from his throat, hacking and coughing as it burns. His back lays upon wet sand before fading into his peaceful sleep again.

In another moment of wakefulness, Tommy hears screaming demands ring through his ears, the material beneath him feeling much softer than the sand, much more comforting; despite the screaming in Tommy’s ears, he finds himself too tired to bother listening.

Tommy only finally wakes up when pain begins to burst from his stomach, forcing a sharp inhale that only causes his lungs to feel the aching effect of nearly _drowning_ a day prior. His eyes shoot open wildly to make contact with Dream looming over his bed, crushing his foot into Tommy’s abdomen. 

Dream’s shoulders relax from their angered, tense position, and he speaks. He retracts his foot, previously still crushing its way into Tommy's weak stomach. 

“What the _hell_ were you thinking? That you could escape consequence through _death_? You’re lucky I even bothered to save you, Tommy, clearly you haven't learned your lesson yet.” His voice boomed in rage, but there was _no_ _concern_ to be found.

Months ago, this might have scared Tommy, would have even left him _yearning_ for Wilbur or Tubbos support _._ Now he feels numb _._ He feels cold.

“ _Jesus_ Tommy, let's just… get you a regen potion, and we'll pretend this never happened _,_ okay? _I'll even let you keep your amour today_ .” Tommy could hear the smile _lace_ Dream’s tone, unsure if he deserved the kindness Dream was showing him after all he's done. It made Tommy happy regardless, so he tried to pretend he felt appreciative rather than afraid _._

Tommy could only nod in response, fearful that any response he could give would only anger his gracious friend further. He couldn't _afford_ to lose Dream, _not when_ _he was all the boy had left._

“Good, come along then.” There's that _smiling_ tone again, and it sounded content, _victorious_. 

So there the blonde was, following after his masked friend, trying his best not to trip along the paved dirt road, still feeling weak from yesterday.  
  
Dream’s hand gripped Wilbur’s trailer doorknob, tried turning it twice, and was only met with resistance. The masked man didn't _hesitate_ to kick the door in that Wilbur had spent his time carving and decorating.  
  
Tommy didn't let his mouth fall, unable to muster the shock, anger, or grief he used to distribute months ago so freely. So there he was, pursed lips huffing a sigh before stepping apprehensively into his brother's trailer.

“Ghostbur used to be pretty handy back in L’manberg with making potions in that little _sewer_ of his.” Dream chuckled; Tommy didn't.

Dreams figure hunched slightly, opening chests and peering through Wilburs old belongings, they've all collected dust, and it makes the blonde’s weak lungs want to hack and wheeze again.  
  
Coming up empty, Dream stands, turning his head towards Tommy and stepping forward.  
  
The first footstep was heavy.  
  
The second was hollow.  
  
The third was heavy again.  
  
Taking a step back, Dream listened carefully, cocking his head to the side as his foot's pressure slowly increased on the wood.  
  
Sweat builds on top of Tommy’s forehead, and his stomach fires up in pain from the anxiety shooting through his nerves. He’s still sore from Dreams wake-up call.  
  
Dream was going to find that stupid basement, the one Tommy has been working towards for _weeks_ now. It wasn't much, lined with thin cobble, dirt still seeping through its uneven cracks. 

Truth be told, it wasn't much, but it held the last hope Tommy had left. His fears were realized when Dream pressed his fingers against the floorboards, and with one hand, began to _rip_ _them back._

The sound of wood ripping and snapping, splintering into Dream’s relentless hands, frightened him. The open space peaking through damaged floorboards only seemed to motivate Dream further as his splintered hands leaked crimson.

The silence made Tommy feel like he was suffocating, anxiety burning his stomach to ash. It wasn’t the quiet, quick suffocation comparable to how the ocean had felt.  
  
The ocean had promised freedom in death. A quick, although painful escape had felt so _tempting;_ Ghostbur looked happy, content the way he was. Dead. 

He wasn't forced to remember anything painful. People befriended him without hesitation, even if they had previously hated Wilbur. It sounded like mercy compared to Tommy's life, one he yearned for, but now as he watches Dream descend his ladder, he can't help but feel the dread rise in his stomach.  
  
This burning anxiety only promised torture, pain with no relief to follow. Tommy should be used to it by now, but he couldn't fight the flowing anger and resentment fighting a pang of burdensome guilt that rose in his chest.  
  
“D-Dream?” Tommy trembled, eyes glossy.

His rapid breathing stopped abruptly as Dream started throwing lit TNT into the small hideaway.  
  
“No! Dream!” Tommy reached his already scarred hands towards the chest, ripping out as many photographs of Tubbo as he could and clutching them to his chest with a cry as the TNT exploded beside him.  
  
His ears rang again. He _hated how familiar it felt._  
  
Dream was screaming, sweat dripping off his brow as he spat words Tommy struggled to hear. He focused back just as Dream reeled his fist back and punched Tommy further into the newly burned crater.  
  
“ _Drop all of your stuff._ **_All of it_**.” He spat, detachment and rage leaking into his throat.  
  


“No- ...Not-”  
  
The words didn't last long as Dream fired an enchanted bow, the arrow piercing into the flesh on his arm. Tommy tried to scream as it burned _,_ but the pain was so overwhelming all he managed to do to choke out was a sob.  
  
The arrow was gripped by Dreams angered fist and ripped out _._

_Well, there goes my screaming problem_. Tommy thought bitterly, his lungs aching from it all.

“In the hole. Now _._ ”  
  


Already dropping his items into the newly dug pit, Tommy’s glossed eyes looked up to make contact with the mask.

“ _No_ \- look, I've brought tools for you, you can _blow up my armor anything but_ -” Pleading to a mask was as effective as screaming at a wall.  
  
“You hid chests! _You_ _hid chests_ from _me_ , _full of stuff; that_ way, I _couldn't keep it!_ ” Dream barked.  
  
“You were lying _to me!_ I wouldn't have ever found out about it if I hadn't **cared** about you! ” Dream continued, anger ripping through his voice.

“But this is all of my things-” _He couldn’t do this; he could barely breathe, let alone argue._  
  
“Why don't you get in the hole, _Tommy_ .” The masked man’s voice came out cold _,_ and it wasn't a threat _._ It was a promise.

  
“I-I’m sorry- I’m really sorry- I didn’t think about- Y’know…” Tommy’s voice trailed off as the fear seemed to overtake him.

  
“You didn't think about _what?_ You thought about _everything_ Tommy.” His voice poisoned Tommy’s brain so slowly _he couldn’t even notice._

Tommy tried to spit out another apology but was interrupted by a swift kick to his stomach, pain hitting the spot _still sore from this morning._  
  
“I-I'm sorry, Dream, please stop.” He felt tired again, and it wasn't comforting anymore.  
  
“You don’t deserve to have this stop, Tommy,” he growled, gripping Tommy’s wrist so hard he was sure it would leave a nastily colored bruise. It wouldn't have been the first time, and Tommy deserved this punishment anyways. At least someone was holding him. People didn't _touch_ him much in exile.

Dream lunged upwards out of the basement, purpose in his stride towards the prime log.

Tommy’s arm shook violently as it tried to maintain its grip on the ledge of the crater, his bleeding arm still injured from the arrow moments ago. It takes him a while, but after finally scrambling to his feet outside the hole, Tommy turns to see Dream standing beside the log, TNT lit in his hand.  
  
“Tommy.” His gaze focused, making sure Tommy watched as he destroyed what he loved. Tommy knew he deserved this _,_ but he could help the weak sob that _wracked_ _his throat as he_ _lunged_ _forward and clapped the TNT's burning rope between his hands to extinguish it_.  
  
It burned only for a moment, adrenaline running through his veins and blocking any real sense of pain yet.  
  
“Stop it, _Stop it- I’m really sorry, Dream, please, I'll be good, I promise! I won't cause problems anymore; please just stop-_ ” Tommy’s voice trembled as the words poured out of him.  
  
“I was only doing it because _look at me-_ ” Tommy didn't get to finish his sentence, the words _'I'm not going to be around much longer.’_ dying in his throat.  
  


Dream didn't flinch, throwing the TNT with a flaming arrow not far behind.  
  


With that, Tommy sprawled backward, eyes filled with tears reflecting the orange light pulsing from the explosions, heat overtaking his body. 

**_Wilbur built that._ **

He can feel that hand again, just like his close call with the oceans call for death, for peace, gripping his shirt and pulling him back from the explosion's wrath, choking on the force of his shirt against his throat.

The blonde tries his best to breathe, fear overtaking him in waves, but just before Tommy opens his eyes, he hears it first, the explosions and the smell of gunpowder overtaking his weak lungs.

  
Tommy widens his eyes and sees it, his tent exploding into nothing but ash and smoke. His coughs turn into harsh sobs that leave him _gagging_ on the floor. Gasping for the relief of fresh air that refuses to come.

“Tommy, it's time for you to _**start over.**_ ”  
  
He can't breathe, it's too much, _he's going to die here, maybe he wants to._  
  
The thought should horrify him, but he can't find it in himself to care anymore.  
  
“Dream, _please_ , I can't-” His voice is cracking with sobs. There's no relief as he looks up and sees Dreams pickaxe swing, chipping at Tommy’s nether portal so hard it shatters before his eyes, the warm magical glow fading to a cold that stings his scarred palms. 

“I thought that we were **friends** , I thought that we were-” Dream’s voice is filled with rage Tommy hasn't heard since the war for L’manbergs independence. _Why did war feel so much better than this?_

“We are, We are! Y-You're my best friend! You're my best friend-” Tommy’s heart feels like it's breaking, panic still spiking up, refusing to slow. _He can't lose his best friend, not again_ ** _._** _Please_ ** _not again._**

“Tommy, you’ve lied to me for the last time.” The masked man seethed before continuing. “ _You’ve manipulated me, Tommy!_ You made me think I could trust you, that you had changed. You're still as selfish as always, lying to me like this.”  
 _  
_ _Can't breathe, He cant- He prays his body to make up its mind on either killing him or letting him take a breath. Either would be a relief._

It doesn't take long for Dream to continue marching his way towards Logstedshire as a whole, the basement and prime log's previous location leaving craters that made Tommy feel Dizzy.  
  
Tommy doesn't recognize what's happening at first.

_Then suddenly, Dream's blade_ **_‘Nightmare’_** _is_ _plunged_ into _Mushroom Henry’s body_ , _leaking a red crimson that matches his once bright cowhide._

Tommy watches his beloved pet’s body hit _the ground with a thud_ , and his heart _breaks_ seeing Henry’s cold dead eyes.

_Tommy didn't think he could cry this hard, not after feeling so completely numb and empty for weeks on end._

“D-Dream, I'm sorry, can we p-please just talk about this?” _Cowardly_ , _that's all he can think to himself as his voice trembled with sobs of fear, the guilt in his stomach still pooling nervously._

The pleas fall on deaf ears, and Dream begins placing the TNT throughout Logstedshire.  
  
“Tommy, you can't go to the nether. None can come and visit you until you learn to listen.” Tommy wishes Dream's voice still held anger _. The_ _silent,_ _disappointed tone is so much wors_ e.

“I-If that's what you think is best then-”  
  
 _The TNT lights and Tommy screams as he loses another home._

_He hasn’t lost everything yet, right?_

  
  


“...You’ll still come and visit me, though, right?” The blonde asks.

“Drop all of your items.” Dream commands.  
  
Tommy doesn't hesitate to dig his own hole. “S-Sure, n-no sure!” 

_Maybe this will make him happier, and Dream always liked exploding his stuff._ Even with this fear in his heart, Tommy didn't dare tell Dream about the _photos of Tubbo_ _shoved and crumbled into his ripped pockets_. If he had to die for those, _he wouldn't hesitate to._

Without hesitation, the boy's items were plunged down his pit, exploding with one last resounding ring.

“And Tommy?”  
  
The blonde looked up to make eye contact with Dream’s mask.  
  
“ **Don't** do that _._ ”

Tommy tries not to show the flinch that overtakes him.

“Y’know I exiled you for a reason, Tubbo exiled you for a reason, and you didn't listen. The rules were _simple,_ Tommy.” He’s just grateful Dream is still speaking to him, letting Tommy hear his voice, even if the words burn like acid at his heart.

“I wasn’t planning on going for very much longer, Dream, and it's not you! I-It’s my fault because I've been doing this-” he looks to the complete desecration of his home, “ _For so long-_ ”

Dream takes a step forward, resting his hand on Tommy’s shoulder as he flinches. Tommy leans into it regardless. “Tommy, _you would_ _never actually go through with it._ ” He hears the smile in his tone, smug and sure of himself.

“You’ll still visit me?” He pleads.  
  
“Yeah, _I’ll still visit you, Tommy-_ ”  
  
“ _Every day_?” He interrupts. 

“Once a week at least, _but_ _maybe not every day._ ” Tommy doesn't understand why Dream smiles as he says it, but soon enough, _Tommy’s smiling with relief himself_ .  
  


A beat of silence passes, “I-I’m really am sorry though, why don't we just pretend this never happened- ” Tommy fidgets with his hands as he says it, unsure of himself.

“ _Sorry, doesn't cut it, Tommy_ .” His stomach drops. “Listen, I'll leave you to think about what you did-”  
  
“W-What about the Nether, _what about_ _my friends-_ ” He begs, hands still shaking and clenched at his sides. The pain of his burns only just starting to make themselves known.

“ No! You- You can't go to the Nether. None can come here. You are alone, okay? ” Dreams voice wavers with that familiar anger again.

Tommy swallows the lump in his throat, trying to bite back tears.

“As soon as I think you have changed and become somebody who isn't going to hide and lie a-and try to revolt-” Dream is shaking with clenched fists as he yells.

“ Then, people can visit you again, and you can go to the Nether again. For now, though? No. None can. I was being very lenient _,_ Tommy, and I didn't even blow up your armor every single day! I gave you some one day!” Dream barks.

Tommy can't hide the tears anymore, but he doesn't dare make a noise to interrupt Dream. _He's right. He's completely right._

“I have been nothing but _gracious_ to you.”  
  
Tommy looks over at the smoke still pluming above Logstedshire, _eyes_ _so dull and grey_ _and yet still holding that_ _shocked expression,_ eyes wide and lips parted in fear, of a kid caught red-handed.

_“Tommy, Think about what you did.”_

With that, Dream leaves.

Tommy shakes, lungs aching with sobs, realizing that everything he touches, everything he loves, dies. The guilt pools into his stomach, and he realizes _he only has himself to blame._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm passing out free tissues, anyone in the comments need one to wipe some tears? Just me? Okay then!
> 
> For real though the support on this fic has been unexpected and amazing, I hope you all know I constantly have been checking for new comments, and writing like crazy! If I've somehow missed out on a tag/trigger warning, PLEASE let me know, and I'll handle it asap! This fic is dark for a while, but I promise there will be comfort down the road :)


	4. Just like any good Soldier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise there will be comfort soon;;;

“ _I said I was sorry,_ ” Tommy mumbled to himself. Tears overflowing from his tightly closed eyes, the pain of his injuries beginning to sear into his skin, dirt and ash mixed haphazardly with oozing crimson. He didn’t bother to take care of his wounded upper arm; he deserved it. It still hurt _._ “ _I meant it._ ”

Tommy’s home being blown to smithereens before him wasn’t new, but god, it still stung.  
  
What was new this time was the aftermath of the explosion.   
  
It didn’t leave him running for water, only barely making it before the boom echoed through L’manberg. It wasn’t filled with screams or withers purring above, ready to fire off explosions at whatever moved slowest. It didn’t make Tommy angry. This time, it made him tired.

There was always someone to blame, Phil’s carelessness, Wilbur’s insanity, Technos bloodlust. Now it was just Tommy and Dream. 

Dream who was his friend, who showed up to his fucking party, who was there for him more than any ‘family’ was.

Was this meant to be? Destruction at Tommy’s hands, pain, and suffering that only spreads to the people he loves until they eventually push him away, _Rightfully so he thought._

Tommy would rather die than continue to be a _burden_ , _a failure_ . He wouldn’t do that do Dream after all he had done for him. 

_If he’s a liability, then he’ll have to write himself out of the story._

Tommy used to look up to Wilbur, strumming his guitar and composing ballads, symphonies. Wilbur would pat the ground next to him, but Tommy wouldn’t dare move, fearful that the music would stop if he blinked.  
  
Wilbur’s voice held inspiration and hope in every word, his ideas lulling Tommy into a safe daze.

_What would he think of him now?_

Tommy knew the answer. He learned it in Pogtopia, in L’manberg.

  
  


The blonde ruffled through his pockets, sighing with relief to see the photos intact. Rough around the edges with some light burn marks _, but hey, Tommy had those too._

Seeing New L’manberg is what made him really break, a sob forcing his way out of his throat before he could think about it. _He hated crying, always had, no matter how many times Wilbur promised it was okay._

He wasn’t sad at first while glancing at the photo. New L’manberg _was_ his home; after all, he had fond memories of watching Tubbo rebuild his nation. Tommy, trying his best to avoid his grief altogether, was happy to become a Vice President that Tubbo would be proud of, _to rebuild Wilbur's legacy._

The realization that Tommy failed the person he cared for most in this cruel world is what started the crying, the break shattering up his already fragile heart. If someone as kind as Tubbo, as inspirational as Wilbur, and as generous as Dream left him, what did that say about Tommy?

_Another answer he despised._

  
  


_Whatever._ _He_ _doesn’t need the nether to do this._

So here he was, pillaring himself to the skies, higher than Phil had ever flown. Maybe that’s what it would feel like, flying. The idea felt more and more sickeningly appealing to Tommy the higher he climbed.

Tommy wanted to write a note for Dream, a goodbye, but sitting on top of his pillar, he couldn’t think of the right words.  
  
Dream had visited constantly, always watching Tommy, looking out for him, and yeah, sometimes Dream would tell Tommy to drop his tools and armor down a bit while forcing him to watch. Sometimes he would threaten to kill Tommy with his sword. _That_ _part always made Wilbur flinch._

Tommy’s body spiked in fear with each memory flooding in, more and more reminding Tommy of days he wished would stay buried with Wilbur under L’manbergs rubble. His brain couldn’t stop, though, overflowing with information.  
  
Tommy may have deserved punishment, but did he deserve _this_?

When the boy realized maybe he didn’t deserve this, that he shouldn’t have been forced to endure this pain and suffering from anyone, it was already _too late_. Tommy’s foot slipped off the pillar, and he began to tumble wildly backward, cold wind embracing his back in his rapid descent.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck shit, think, relax, calm._ _  
  
_

_  
_ _“Calm yourself, have some blue!” Wilbur’s happy voice ringed in his head, a distant memory._

He really doesn’t have time to think about _that_ _right now_.

There’s a pond below, it’s not wide, but it’s deep enough to encase Tommy’s landing.  
  
The pond splashed before he could feel it, pain exploding up his back as if he’d hit solid concrete. While that pain passed, Tommy could feel his ankle as it _smashed_ _into the bottom of the lake_ , _easing_ _his landing with a crack._ He tried pulling himself up by his hands, but they burned and hurt so bad Tommy’s eyes bit back tears. He tried his legs only to realize his ankle was _definitely broken._   
  
_Arms it is then._

Tommy could only barely contain the sob of pain that spread through his scraped and burned palms as he hurled himself onto dry land, laying flat in wet grass. His arm was still bleeding, so he ripped Tubbo’s bandana off his neck and fastened the wound with a tourniquet, _just like_ _Techno had taught him and Wilbur when they were kids._

_Gross_ , Family’s complicated, and Tommy was _far_ too tired for reminiscing _._   
  
_A nap would be nice._

Tommy knows that he doesn’t get the luxury of nice things though, Dream would be back soon, and while the blonde didn’t fully understand why his hands shook around the man or why his breath hitched in his throat upon seeing that cold, _empty_ _mask’s arrival_ , Tommy knew it wasn’t good.   
  
Dream was only ever here to _watch_ him, to monitor him like an animal, _caged in fear_ . _Who knows, maybe that’s what friends were meant to do, watch each other’s backs._

_No, fuck that. He’s leaving, and he’s never looking back._

One step after the other, one still broken, the other shaking in fear. Adrenaline was all Tommy had left, so he wiped his tears, held in his sobs, and marched.

**_Just like any good soldier._ **

* * *

20 minutes into walking, his feet burn, and it’s horribly uncomfortable to feel his broken foot crunch into sticks and rocks, but he knew he needed to go _somewhere._   
  
Truth be told, he had no idea where he really planned to go, maybe hide out in a village. _Where he’d be easily found and killed,_ his mind supplied.

He could try stealing from Technoblade, but that was a _death sentence_ , and if Tommy wanted one of those, he could have accomplished that _20 minutes ago_. 

So here he was, at the end of Logstedshires oakwood forest, dipping his barefoot into the snow. He’d find a good place to hide and lay low, just long enough to think of a better plan. Easy right?

* * *

_This wasn’t easy._

His head felt like mush, his foot was starting to feel more numb by the minute, and walking on it while sprained wasn’t helping his lovely hike through the snow.   
  
It fell with a soft, gentle grace, and maybe in another time, Tommy would revel in it. Stick out his nose and enjoy the cold fresh breeze, or peer through a window with wonder in his eyes and hot chocolate warming his hands. Here and now, however, it only served to anger Tommy. He felt like a _frosted corpse_. 

_The snow felt like a mockery._

The boy had been marching for around 2 hours now. To make matters worse, his foot feels like dead weight, and the sun had just dimmed the last of its light over the frozen valley.

That’s when he sees it. A cottage, made of spruce and beautifully crafted stone, leaking an orange fluorescent light that looked warm and inviting onto the settled snow outside.

Tommy was too dazed to recognize the horse outside or the tall, inhuman silhouette by the window, peering out of the windowsills and watching a half-dead figure stumble towards him. _The figure_ _'_ _s_ _eyes didn’t hold_ _recognition in them until-_

_Until the boy’s knees buckled and collapsed into the snow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those missing Ghostbur content, or wanting some more SBI, the next chapter is for you, so be sure to bookmark >;)


	5. A Pig and a Ghost play doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick Techno POV while Tommy is unconscious! I hope you appreciate me ignoring canon and giving you a REASONABLE amount of angst, my heart hurts and so does my brain after editing this chapter, enjoy!
> 
> (Quick note: Techno only refers to Ghostbur as Ghostbur, but Tommy calls him Wilbur. It's still all just Ghostbur!)

Techno felt completely drained between the butcher army’s little assassination attempt and his struggle against the voices; he was ready to sleep for the whole damn winter in his cottage of solitude. 

His dreams of relaxation and alone time were shattered, however, as he saw a familiar ghost fiddling with his bright yellow sweater on Techno’s porch, swinging his feet in the air like a child.  
  
“Oh! Techno, mind letting me in?” he asked. “It’s starting to snow again, and _I’m getting all_ _melty_ ,” Ghostbur’s voice was polite, quiet. The differences between Ghostbur and Wilbur still unsettle Techno, but the ghost hadn’t done anything wrong yet, so who was he of all people to hold a grudge?

“Uhh, yeah, but why didn’t you just float right past the lock? You’re not exactly corporeal.” he huffed in feign annoyance.

“Well, that would have been rude.” Ghostbur’s polite voice had sounded offended at the mere mention of being “rude,” and Techno couldn’t help but laugh to himself that this was the man who had been a deranged president, blowing his country to smithereens and smoke. Now he just brings loud blue sheep to his house and tells Techno stories of Phil’s “adventures” in L’manberg.

There was never much for the ghost to say, just meaningless tales of him scaring Phil in an attempt to see his wings puff up before clutching his chest and telling his son to stop ‘Giving him a damn heart attack.’ as he floats away in a fit of laughter. It always made his brother giggle and was one of the few similarities Ghostbur and Wilbur still shared.

They never spoke about anything serious together, and Ghostbur never held a grudge about all that Techno had done because  _ he never remembered to.  _ Techno avoided more serious topics like that, and it seemed to be something he and Ghostbur had in common.

Leading Ghostbur inside, Techno began his attempt at conversation. “So, what have you been up to Ghostbur, still living in Logstedshire with Tommy?” His tone was light, just an attempt at small talk, but when he turned his head, Ghostbur’s eyes were wide at the mention of Tommy.   
  
Ghostbur’s relaxed with an uncomfortable, inhuman speed, a confused expression now painting his face.   
  
“I-I’m sorry, what were we talking about?” 

Something sad had clearly happened back in Logstedshire, but Tommy wasn’t exactly easygoing, and Ghostbur had been stuck with him in a glorified, overheated summer camp for weeks. Techno isn’t surprised to think they’ve just fought.

“I asked what you’ve been up to.” He repeated, making sure to leave out the details of Tommy.

“Oh! Well, I actually came here to ask you about that! See, I’ve been wandering through the snow for a while now, found a sheep,” He cupped on hand over the side of his mouth, “Her name is Friend,” he smiled before continuing, “and I don’t really remember why I’m out here!”

_ The snow? Ghostbur’s skin melted and burned in snow or rain. _

“Well, you’re free to stay here until you remember Ghostbur.” The smile in his tone was genuine, even if he wasn’t always thrilled with Ghostbur’s company, they were brothers once, and Techno did enjoy the time they spent together. 

Ghostbur and Phil were the only people Techno could find himself tolerating these days. The rest of them seemed obsessed with power or too busy in their own ventures to interact with him. Techno preferred it this way; the fewer people he knew, the fewer problems he had.

Soon enough, he was pulled out of his spiral of overthinking, looking back to see Ghostbur staring outside.

“That zombie looks a bit like Tommy!” Ghostbur giggled, peering his face toward the window with a lighthearted curiosity. That’s when the voices exploded throughout Techno’s head, an oncoming migraine piercing pain behind his ears.

It was mindless screaming. The words  _ Tommy _ and  _ Window _ were all he could pick up on. If looking out a window to see a weird-looking zombie would allow him to finally sleep for the night, then that was enough for Techno.   
  
He watched the figure march forward in ripped and tattered clothes, and it wasn’t until Techno saw the blood pooling from the boy into the snow that Techno realized the figure was human. The “zombie” was Tommy. 

His eyes widened; Tommy hit the snow hard, body lurching forward as if weightless.

Techno was out the door before his voices could scream,  _ although they still did _ . He slid to the ground and hoisted Tommy into his arms, and he was  _ light, far, far too light.  _ What the hell happened to him?

None of that mattered now. The amount of blood Tommy was losing in the snow was concerning if he didn’t start treatment now, and Tommy was severely underdressed for a night in the tundra. 

He ignored Ghostburs gasp accompanied by a look of horrific  _ recognition like he remembered something.  _ Technos held Tommy’s frail body with one arm to his chest, swiping his spruce table clean of plates and decorations in a swift, angry motion before gently resting Tommy upon it.

Techno began preparing a mental list of injuries, Tommy had a large blackening bruise over his stomach and another on his wrist,  _ concerning but not a priority. _

Then there was a tourniquet messily applied by Tommy earlier to his upper arm. While it hadn’t been properly applied enough to stop his blood flow from an arrow wound, it significantly slowed it, helping Techno greatly now. 

There were burn marks on Tommy’s hands, one connecting to his lower wrist. His breathing sounded weak, and his lower jeans had dried blood staining the ankles; thankfully, that blood didn’t seem to belong to the boy, but upon further inspection, he was missing a shoe on a sprained foot.

Lastly was Tommy’s temperature.  _ Hypothermia, Techno thought with a scowl painting his face _ . Thankfully potions were powerful when made by someone with experience like Techno and Ghostbur, a hell of a duo they made. Just an anarchist and his dead, confused brother playing doctor.

How the hell did Tommy get this bad? Bleeding, hypothermic, underweight, and sprained? He couldn’t think about that now. He had to get to work. 

“Ghostbur, I need you to bring me warm towels, regen potions, fire resistance, and clothes out of my closet, do you understand?” Techno barked out the orders, concern evident on his normally indifferent facial features.

Ghostbur’s wide eyes blinked before rushing throughout Techno’s house, throwing items out of chests in a hurry, carrying hoards of items, and slipping straight through the walls and floors to more effectively traverse the house.

In record-breaking time Ghostbur was shoving items and potions into Techno’s space, he had the expression of a worried mother, and in any other context, Techno would have laughed at him for it. He didn't feel like laughing while stitching his brother’s bloody cold body.

Between Techno’s stitching, and Ghostbur laying warming wet clothes over Tommy, it wasn't long before Tommy's breathing seemed to gain a bit of strength. He was still unconscious, and Techno expected he wouldn't wake up for half a day at least.

The regeneration potion had barely saved Tommy from long-term frostbite effects. If Techno didn't have expensive medical supplies stacked, Tommy would have lost a leg walking in the snow like that. The thought made Techno feel sick.

Ghostbur took Tommy’s hand quietly in his own, gently applying fire resistance in soothing circles over the boy's scarred palms as dark blue tears slipped from his eyes. 

Techno recognized the treatment from Phil's old lessons, and he made sure to teach each of them about the dangers and advantages of potions held in the right, trained hands. It was a hobby that had saved Phil’s life quite a few times on his adventures; now, it was saving his son's life.

Techno reminded himself to thank Phil later.

Burn scars could be mostly fully healed with the help of Fire resistance potions used as oil on the affected area. Techno and Ghostbur were late in helping Tommy, so he would likely still keep very faint scars on his palms.

_ This could have been far, far worse if Techno was even just a few minutes late to finding Tommy out there.  _ Between the images of a half-dead Tommy and the voices screaming into his head, Techno was exhausted. Tommy had been changed into Techno’s baggier clean clothes, and he looked more like a kid than ever.

_ That's all he ever was, though, wasn't he? Techno hurt a kid. _

_ The voices were cruel, but they were  _ **_right._ **

Techno didn't cry, but his eyes glossed in pain, and his face grimaced in disgust. He was never the best at expressing emotion, and he sure as hell wasn't going to start in front of his brothers' damaged fractures of themselves.

Ghostbur’s hand rested upon his shoulder, gently pulling Techno out of his spiral. It wasn't exactly a comforting touch, cold and unsettling, inhuman, but it was enough to bring Techno back into the present.

They had stabilized Tommy’s temperature, but it was certain with his exposure to the snow that he’d develop a fever in the night, and resting on a table wasn't going to help him sleep. Without further hesitation, Techno was hoisting the blonde into his arms again. He knew he was strong, but the weightless shell of his little brother, frail and unmoving in his arms, still left a pit deep in his stomach.

Carrying Tommy to his bed, he wrapped his coat protectively around the boy, tucked him in, and pulled a chair up to his bedside to keep watch. Tommy may be stable now, but he’d need to keep an eye on the incoming fever to ensure his safety.

Ghostbur entered the room quietly, standing just beside Techno.

Tommy was safe now,  _ and his brothers would do anything to maintain that. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seeing one of you comment on a joke about the fic I made was so surreal. The support is insane, and you all make me laugh/smile! Remember to drink some water late at night, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


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